


Of Flowers and Ink

by LassieLowrider



Series: COC2019 [15]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Flowers, Getting Together, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 14:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LassieLowrider/pseuds/LassieLowrider
Summary: Artists aren’t supposed to have favourite customers.or: Baz has a favourite customer who he really loves inking. And really loves, period.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: COC2019 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553869
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2019





	Of Flowers and Ink

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. 
> 
> Fill for COC2019 day 15 prompt: floral

**Baz**

He was coming in again today. He’d called last week, and while I really didn’t have any times free in the next few months, for him I’d make time. 

It’s a bit frowned upon, in the business, to be thirsting over your customers, but as every single tattoo artist ever knows, there’s always one. They don’t even have to be physically attractive, but there’s always going to be one customer that resonates. Well thought out tattoos, maybe you just click with them, maybe the conversation is stimulating and just all-round perfect. Or maybe they had the most perfect bronzed skin and the most beautiful blue eyes.

Okay so the relationship I had with Simon Snow was far from professional, at least on my side. I couldn’t help it - all from the very first tattoo, also the only of his tattoos that weren’t flower based, I had had an immense fascination with him. His first tattoo was a night sky, the moon replaced with a singular diamond. He had explained that he wasn’t a huge Beatles fan, but his mum had been - and her name had been Lucy, so he’d felt it fitting. 

It was the kind of cliché reasoning I’d usually frown at, but when it came from him I came over all pitterpated. 

After that first, mural-like tattoo was done, he kept coming back for more. One arm was entirely filled by now, different flowers and vines climbing their way up his arm much the same way I’d like to. 

The one I was really proud of was the tree on his back; not only had I managed to get a good amount of detail in, I had also gotten the mementos he wanted tattooed to look like a part of the tree.

Simon had explained every single flower and tree I had tattooed on him, he’d explained them in detail just what they meant and what they meant when put together. I hadn’t listened much, I was ashamed to admit, but I’d been a bit too distracted by the man to listen to what he was saying. 

I had no idea what he worked with, even, but I think that’s because he hadn’t said anything either. That’s the kind of thing, otherwise, that I would make sure to remember. 

The doorbell jingling to announce a customer brought me out of my head, and I looked up from the sketch I was working on to see the man I’d had on my mind the entire day. The shop was technically closed and I was doing this after my proper business hours, but you have to make some sacrifices for the good of your business. Helping Simon out had led to countless of new customer I wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. 

“Hullo Baz,” Simon called over his shoulder, hanging his coat up on the hanger just inside the door. “How’s it hanging?” He giggled quickly at his own pun, and while the humour was awful I couldn’t help the rush of fondness I felt at seeing him so happy. 

“Simon!” I said, unable to keep the delight out of my voice. “Busy as usual, you know how it is. How’s it going for you?”

“Same old, same old, y’know?” He pulled a hand through his hair, ruffling the part on top that was getting so long it was starting to curl. He really was unfairly attractive. 

“What’ve you got for me today, Simon? Another itty bitty piece to properly challenge my needles?”

“Nah, thought I’d be kind for once, and give you something proper to sink your needle into.” He held out a paper to me, and it was just barely I kept from snatching it out of his hand. “A wreath, right under my knee. It’ll be terrible, tattooing the back of my knee, but it’ll be worth it.”

It looked like it could be an amazing tattoo, based on just the pictures Simon had brought with him. As he talked about the flowers, telling all of how they symbolised him at his most distilled self, I sketched. When I was happy with how it looked I showed him, and even before he said anything I knew it was just what he’d wanted. 

“It’s perfect, Baz, holy fuck.”

“Well then, trousers off, let’s get you inked.” Said and done, he did crawl up in the chair, trousers off. It was the first time I saw more skin than his back, but with quite a lot of biting my tongue I did keep from saying anything to him - or touching him inappropriately, for that matter. 

“So,” I said once the lines were done. “What’s the big secret meaning behind this one?”

“Ha, well…” he replied, watching me cap my gun and the rise, going off to get some more ink. All through the shop I felt his eyes burning a hole in me, and I really couldn’t help the delighted shiver that went down my back. “It’s me in a wreath, isn’t it?”

“Oh? How so?” I sat down again, preparing to start laying down the shadows. I had a rather good vantage point from where I was sitting between his feet, and I really wouldn’t mind having that view for the rest of my life. 

“Yeah, I mean, there’s a lot of symbolism and stuff, all of it meaning something to me.” He snorted, scrubbing a hand down his face, before looking ruefully, and maybe meaningfully, at me. “I did consider a combination that means ‘unhappy love of men’, but I thought that would be a self-fulfilling prophecy more than anything.”

“Unhappy love of men, huh?” I asked on autopilot, shading a flower on the side of his knee. 

“Yeah, well, there’s this guy I see every so often - not as often as I’d like, not really, but often enough.” The way he was staring at me made me feel like maybe I should be getting a hint, but I honestly wasn’t certain what the hint I should be getting was. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he’s my tattoo artist, right? I might make it awkward if I tell him, but it’s been burning a hole in me for so long I gotta tell him now.” His stare could burn a hole in me, no problem, and I can’t help but look back, just as intensely. I don’t even look as I cap my gun again, putting it down on the trolley next to the chair. 

“Well, lucky for you, your tattoo artist is rather mad about you, too,” I hear myself say, as through a fog. I see myself kissing his bared knee, and then I don’t see much of anything as he pulls me up and kisses the living daylights out of me. 

**Author's Note:**

> I typed most of this on my phone way too late at night. 
> 
> De!di!ca!tion!


End file.
